Three Simple Rules
by X-Shadow.of.Darkness-X
Summary: AU. Quinn is a Transporter, a highly skilled driver specialising in the transportation of packages from one place to another. She has only three rules. One: the deal is the deal. Two: No names. Three: do not open the package. But when she is tasked with Transporting Rachel Berry, Hollywood's newest starlet, to New York, she finds these rules tested time and time again...
1. Chapter 1

**DISCLAIMER:**** I do not own Glee or The Transporter, all characters and plots are entirely fictitious.**

The man watched impassively as the black Honda Civic pulled up the long path, wheels crunching against the gravel. He was well dressed in a tailored suit, and his jet-black hair was perfectly styled. He was a man who took a great deal of pride in his appearance, and his appearance matched his personality: rich as fuck.

His grey eyes observed the scene as a young woman stepped out of the car, walking around to the back and opening the trunk. He would put her in her mid-twenties, confident and professional. Mirrored sunglasses covered her eyes, and the pantsuit she wore gave the obvious impression that she took her job seriously.

He smiled slightly as she slammed the lid of the trunk down, the motion of lifting her arm pulling back her jacket slightly, the sunlight gleaming momentarily off of a gun concealed beneath her left arm. He could sense his bodyguards on either side of him tense slightly, clearly having noticed the firearm as well. He remained calm; the woman had no reason to draw her weapon. In less than five minutes, she would be gone, never to be seen again.

The man stood his ground, letting the woman come to him. Her blonde hair glimmered in the sunlight, the golden strands just brushing her shoulders. Her left hand was clasped around the handle of a metal case. Her right hand was empty.

This would seem an inconsequential observation to some, but there was obviously reasoning behind it. Most people, being right-handed, would carry the case in their right hand, but leaving her right hand empty meant easier access to her gun without needing to drop the case first. The man smiled again. This woman clearly knew what she was doing, and was prepared for any eventuality.

"You must be the Transporter." the man said, smiling warmly at her. No need to burn bridges here. "Welcome, welcome."

The woman said nothing. Instead, she raised the case, offering it to the man.

"Enrique." he said crisply. The man on his right moved forward, taking the case from the driver. Balancing the case flat in one hand, he deftly clicked the locks open, lifting the lid and showing the contents to the suited man.

The man stepped forward, raising a hand. Slowly, almost reverently, he ran his palm across the large packets of white powder within. He raised his eyes, meeting the woman's. She didn't react, her face remaining stoic. He nodded internally. She hadn't opened the case.

"Excellent." he murmured, closing the lid and stepping around Enrique, moving towards the driver, his hand slipping into the inside pocket of his jacket, withdrawing a small, thick, brown envelope.

"I believe this is yours." he said, holding out the envelope. The woman nodded once, reaching out and taking the envelope in her left hand. The man smiled again.

"Have a safe trip." he said, a smile dancing on his lips. Without another word, he turned and walked back to his house, his bodyguards close behind.

Quinn Fabray watched them leave, then, when she was sure they weren't going to turn back, turned on the spot and strode back to her car. Once she reached the driver's door, she reached out, pulled the door open and slid in, pulling the door shut again and fastening her seatbelt. She tossed the envelope onto the passenger seat and twisted the key in the ignition, feeling the car thrum as the engine roared into life. Craning her neck, she looked out of the rear window as she pulled her car around, driving out of the gate and back down the path.

She drove for almost half an hour until she stopped, sticking to the more deserted roads. Once she had killed the engine, she reached over and picked up the envelope. It was heavy, a good sign.

She slid a finger under a loose edge of the flap, slitting the paper open easily. Using one hand, she tented the envelope, while the other reached in, gripping the contents tightly and pulling them out.

Very few people ever saw this sight. A stack of hundred dollar bills, all crisp and neatly stacked. She riffled through the stack, much as a poker dealer would his set of cards, then slid the bills back into the envelope. She leaned over, opening the glove compartment and sliding the envelope inside. She closed the compartment and started the car again, turning back onto the road that would lead her back into Los Angeles.

The sleek, black Honda ate up the miles, the tarmac strip ahead of her disappearing under the hood of the car as she drove, the radio playing quietly in the background. The vast, empty highway soon gave way to leafy suburbs, and then, finally, the main city. Quinn reached out towards a row of buttons on her dashboard, pressing the button labeled 2. There was a soft _thunk_ as the plates switched to a new set. While she was sure that no one had seen the pickup, she could never be too careful. Transporting was a risky business.

The car moved through the streets, as nondescript as the other commuters. Quinn kept her gaze leveled straight ahead, effortlessly guiding the car along the familiar streets toward her apartment. As she drove, three fire engines raced past, sirens blaring, traffic moving to the side to let the large trucks past.

Halfway down a block, Quinn turned off, heading down a small alleyway leading to the garages. Her own garage door was open, just as she had left it. She smiled slightly as she turned her car, reversing easily into the enclosed bay. Once the car was safely within the confines of the garage, Quinn turned off the ignition, letting out a small sigh of relief.

She had learned quickly, way back when she had first started transporting, that the job was a lot easier when you didn't ask questions. Date. Destination. Fee. That was all she needed to know. She didn't need to know what she was carrying, or who she was carrying it for. Those were unnecessary distractions. So long as they paid at the other end, Quinn couldn't care less.

There were three simple rules that Quinn worked by. Rule number one: The deal is the deal. More than once, Quinn had turned up to pick up a package, only to find that the client had added something last minute. Last minute changes could not be accepted. It made the planned routes more difficult, either by adding weight or changing the variables.

Rule number two: No names. Names invoked companionship, and Quinn found it easier to just do the job, without trying to work out who her client was through their name.

Rule number three: Do not open or converse with the package. Never in her career had Quinn concerned herself with what she was Transporting. She had run packages for very shady people before, and the vast majority of them were probably illegal. If she was caught, she would likely be in a lot of legal trouble. But she was never caught.

Quinn reached up and pulled off her sunglasses, slipping them inside her jacket. Pulling the small silver lever on the door panel, she let herself out of the car, closing the door again and locking the Honda behind her. She would bank the money tomorrow, it would be safe enough overnight.

She walked out of the garage, reaching up and pulling the door down, locking it securely, then turned and walked toward the rear entrance of her building, pulling the heavy door open and vanishing inside.

Quinn let out another sigh as a waft of cool air washed over her from the building's air conditioning. She took a deep breath, then picked her way through the slightly cluttered storage room toward the door that would take her through to the atrium. While the residents were free to use that particular entrance, very few ever did. Quinn used it almost exclusively, as it allowed her to enter and exit the building almost completely unseen. Perfect.

When she entered the atrium, it was, as was usual, completely vacant. Most of the residents worked steady nine-to-five jobs, unlike Quinn, who worked when her skills were required. She preferred the peace. It allowed her to be at one with her thoughts, free from the distractions of everyone else's lives.

She pressed the elevator call button and waited, arms crossed, one foot tapping out an impatient rhythm on the polished linoleum. She could have taken the stairs, it was true, but at that moment, all she could think about was a hot shower, and the elevator would get her to her apartment on the top floor slightly quicker.

The bell dinged loudly as the elevator arrived, the shiny, silver doors sliding apart, allowing the young woman access. Quinn stepped in, pressing the button for the top floor without even looking at the console. The bell dinged again and the doors slid shut, the small metal box beginning its ascent.

Quinn watched unblinkingly as the numbers on the small screen in the corner counted upwards in a steady rhythm. When the elevator reached floor 47, the bell dinged again and the doors slid open. Quinn stepped out into a small antechamber, walking across the bare space to a door opposite the elevator.

While most normal buildings gave their residents keys, this building was home to the very rich and the very powerful. Therefore, security had been high on the list of priorities. Instead of a normal lock and key, each apartment door had been outfitted with a coded electronic punched her own in without any thought, gripping the door handle and walking into her apartment.

As Quinn spent most of her time on the road, she was rarely in her apartment, and the minimal décor inside reflected this. The furniture was practical, rather than lavish, and no artwork hung on the walls. A bookshelf was stood in one corner, the shelves full, yet untouched. A TV dominated one wall, the dark screen coated with a fine layer of dust. An electric fireplace sat below a mantle, upon which stood the only photo in the apartment, one of Quinn and a friend whose face she barely recognized now.

Quinn closed the door behind her, waiting for the soft _click_ as the door locked again. She ran her hands through her hair as she walked through her apartment to her bedroom, almost hearing her shower calling to her.

Her bedroom was just as bare as her living room. Bed, wardrobe and an en suite. She didn't need anything else. A bedroom was for sleeping, and the occasional late night guest. She would never understand people who kept TV's or books in their bedroom.

She sat down on the edge of her bed, lifting her leg and untying the laces of her shoe, dropping it unceremoniously on the ground and then repeating the process with the other shoe. Standing up again, she shrugged off her jacket, tossing it onto her bed, then quickly disrobed, dropping her underwear into a small basket next to the door to the en suite. Her guns were carefully placed in the wardrobe.

Reaching into the shower, Quinn gripped the handle and turned, her hand darting back out as the water cascaded down from the shower head above. As she waited for the water to heat up, she regarded herself in the mirror.

Her physique was still as taut and muscular as ever, though not like a bodybuilder, instead, rather like that of a high school cheerleader. Leaning on the sink, she took a closer look at her eyes. Hazel orbs peered out of the glass at her, slightly bloodshot from lack of sleep. Her skin was still as pale and smooth as it had ever been.

Turning away from the mirror, Quinn stepped under the jets of water, letting the water run down her body, feeling the residual aches and pains melting away. With any luck, she'd be able to take it easy for a couple of weeks.

-x-x-x-x-x-

As Quinn was settling down for a quiet evening at home, a black sedan pulled up outside the LAPD headquarters. It was unremarkable, save for the tinted windows, and even that wasn't a wholly unfamiliar sight in the City of Angels.

The car sat there for a few moments, engine idling, then a man got out of the backseat, walking around the car to the other side. Dressed in a dark suit and sunglasses, he was clearly some form of security. He took a long time casting his gaze around at the surroundings before he opened the door, stepping back slightly to let the other passenger out.

Rachel Berry sighed lightly as she got out of the car, adjusting her dress as her bodyguard closed the door and escorted her into the police station. She understood the need for the secrecy and security, but that didn't mean she was happy about it.

Rachel Berry was a star, an actress that had come from some small town in the depths of Ohio and rocketed to the top of Hollywood in a matter of months. It was impossible to walk past a newsstand without seeing Rachel's face smiling out of a cover at you. That had been a few years ago. Now, she was one of the biggest names in showbiz.

That fame hadn't come easily, though. Which was why she was here now, being escorted through the halls of the LAPD headquarters, away from paparazzi cameras and nosy journalists. Rachel didn't particularly like it, but she hadn't been given much choice in the matter.

Her security guard led her through what seemed like a maze of corridors, and Rachel was about to ask if he knew where they were going when they stopped outside an interview room door. The man stepped forward and opened the door, then moved to the side, allowing Rachel into the room.

"Rachel!"

Her agent, Max Liebermann, rose from his seat, rushing over to her and hurrying her into the room. He pulled out a seat, gesturing for her to sit, then retook his own seat. He was a short man, with roughly styled blonde hair and a slight beer gut. He was never going to win any beauty contests, but he had a personality that was instantly endearing.

"Were you followed, Noah?" Max asked the guard. Noah shook his head.

"Not that I could tell." His voice was clipped, professional. "No one saw us entering the building either."

"Good, good." Max said, sounding relieved. "If you wouldn't mind giving us some privacy, Mr Puckerman?"

Noah nodded, closing the door, though Rachel could still see his silhouette through the half-closed blinds.

"Max, what's going on?" Rachel demanded. "No one would tell me anything! Why am I here?"

Max sighed, reaching down and picking up a large folder, placing it deliberately onto the table.

"There's been an accident." he said, but Rachel didn't like the way he said 'accident'.

"What do you mean?" she asked, eyeing the folder apprehensively. She wasn't entirely sure she wanted to see the contents.

Max sighed again, then opened the folders, withdrawing several A4 photographs, laying them out on the table. Rachel leaned forward for a closer look, and gasped.

The photos were of her house. But it didn't look anything like her house. The windows were smashed, doors splintered, and she was sure she could see bullet holes in the walls. But what drew her attention immediately was the fact that everything was charred black. The house was more like a husk.

Rachel's mouth fell open, and she forced herself not to cry.

"How – why – what happened?" she finally managed, her voice raspy, her mouth suddenly dry.

"We still don't fully know." Max said, looking at the photos as well. "Whatever it was, it wasn't simply an electrical fire. This was premeditated." He pointed to a particular picture. "See the bullet marks? Someone clearly planned this. People don't just rock up at a house and shoot the hell out of it. Someone wanted you dead."

Rachel felt sick. She stared at the photographs, trying not to imagine what it would have been like if she were at home when the attack happened. The searing heat, the struggle for oxygen, the scorching pain as the flames consumed...

"So what happens now?" Rachel asked, changing the subject before her mind ran away with itself. The less she thought about it, the better.

"For the moment, we're going to keep you here, in protective custody." Max said, his voice slightly apologetic. "We're currently setting up somewhere safe for you to stay until the authorities get to the bottom of this, outside of LA."

"I don't want to leave LA!" Rachel exclaimed.

"We don't have much of a choice here!" Max argued. "While you're in LA, you are in danger! You're young, talented. You have your whole life ahead of you. Please, don't argue this time."

Rachel bristled, a million thoughts running through her head. Eventually, she slumped back into her chair.

"Fine." she conceded. "Where am I going?"

"New York." Max said. "I have a couple of friends out there you can stay with. They'll look after you, and you can lie low for a while."

"Why New York?" Rachel asked. "It's on the opposite side of the country."

"Exactly." Max said. "It's a long way away, and there's a lot of people there. You can lose yourself in the crowds, just another girl going about her daily business."

Rachel was silent for a moment. When she was younger, she had dreamed of going to New York and becoming a star of Broadway. She had always hoped to make it to New York. She just wished that it were under better circumstances.

"When do we go?" she asked quietly.

"When do _you_ go." Max corrected. "Answer? Once I've arranged transportation."

"You're not coming?" Rachel asked. Max shook his head.

"No. The fewer people involved, the better."

"And why do you need to arrange transport? Surely Puck could drive me?" Rachel asked.

"Again, the fewer people involved, the better." Max said. "I've got a number from a friend of mine. A Transporter, someone who'll drive anything or anyone, no questions asked."

Rachel didn't like the sound of that.

"Is that legal?"

"For them to drive you across the country? Perfectly." Max replied.

"I mean, the no questions asked thing. They could drive anything. Weapons, drugs, bodies..."

"That's not our worry." Max reassured her. "They'll pick you up, drive you to New York, then disappear. That's it."

"...Okay." Rachel said quietly. Max's eyes narrowed slightly.

"You don't sound convinced."

"I'm fine." Rachel said. "It's just a lot to take in, is all..."

Max nodded sympathetically.

"I know, I know." He pushed his chair back, standing up. "If you'll excuse me, I have a call to make. Noah's right outside if you need anything."

Rachel nodded, forcing herself not to look at the photos still out on the table. Max placed a gentle hand on her shoulder as he passed, then exited the room, closing the door behind him.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Quinn jumped as her cell phone rang, the sound loud in the otherwise quiet apartment. Sighing, she put down her gun and cloth, snatching up the phone and connecting the call.

"Quinn Fabray."

"Oh, hi." It was a man, by the sound of his voice, mid thirties. "I was given this number by a friend. Am I to believe that you are in the business of transportation?"

"I am." Quinn said, her tone wary, guarded.

"Thank God." The man sounded relieved. "I have a job I need to discuss with you."

Quinn sighed internally. _So much for taking it easy for a couple of weeks._

"Very well. Meet me at O'Connor's, on the corner of 12th and Keniston, at 8pm. I'll be in the third booth from the door. I will wait for five minutes only." With that, she hung up, not interested in exchanging pleasantries. She tossed the phone back onto the table and picked up her gun and cloth again, resuming her cleaning of the firearm.

Every time she wanted to take a break, another job always came up. It was like the universe didn't think she deserved a rest. All she could do was hope that it was an easy job.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Max Liebermann walked into O'Connor's bar at precisely 8pm. His eyes scanned the booths, coming to rest on the third booth from the door.

At first, he thought that maybe the Transporter wasn't here yet, as the only occupant of the booth was a young woman, maybe the same age as Rachel. As he looked at her, though, he could tell that she wasn't just your average Joe. Her eyes were constantly roving around the bar, taking in everything, analyzing, and then moving on. Her posture was too tight, too rigid, as though she were prepared to leap into action at a moment's notice. This wasn't a girl out for drinks with her girlfriends before hitting one of the many clubs in LA. This was a woman here for a purpose.

He walked over, his mouth suddenly going rather dry.

"Quinn Fabray?" he asked. The woman's eyes met his, her gaze boring into him, analyzing him. She nodded once, almost imperceptibly. Max sighed with relief and slid into the booth opposite her. Quinn didn't say anything, but withdrew from an inside pocket a small notebook and a pen.

"What's the job?" she asked bluntly, turning to a clean page.

Max swallowed, then spoke.

"I need you to drive my client out of Los Angeles."

"Date?" Quinn asked, not looking at him.

"Tomorrow."

"Time?"

"Early."

Quinn looked up at him, fixing him with a hard stare.

"Time?" she asked again.

Max's mind raced.

"Uh, nine. Nine am."

"Where from?"

"LAPD headquarters." The rapid-fire questions were slightly unsettling. It seemed that the woman really wasn't interested in anything other than the job.

"Destination?"

"Poughkeepsie." Max said, fishing in his pocket. "Here's the address." He pulled out a small, crumpled piece of paper, passing it to the blonde. Quinn picked it up, reading it quickly, then handed it back, making another note in her book.

"Dimensions?"

Max frowned, wondering how to answer the question.

"Uh, about 5'3". Maybe a hundred pounds."

Quinn looked at him, her expression unreadable.

"Fifty thousand dollars." she said, closing her notebook and looking at him properly. "Twenty-five when I pick up the package, the other twenty-five when I reach the drop-off point. If there is no-one there to receive the package, that is not my responsibility. I will drop the package and I will leave. That is the deal."

Max thought for a moment. Fifty thousand dollars was a lot of money, but if it kept Rachel safe, then it was worth every cent. Plus, he didn't have to worry about no-one being at the other end. He knew he could rely on Kurt. He didn't like the way she kept calling Rachel a "package", though.

"Very well. Deal." he said, extending his hand over the table. Quinn clasped it firmly, shaking it briefly.

"Rule number one: the deal is the deal. These details cannot and will not be altered. One package, to be driven to Poughkeepsie, and no further."

"She's not a package!" Max burst out, slamming his fist against the table. A couple of patrons looked around at his sudden outburst, and he ducked his head. Quinn remained unfazed.

"Nine am. Tomorrow. LAPD headquarters. I will wait for five minutes only." With that, she stood, sidled out of the booth and walked out of the bar.

Max watched her go, and as he did, he couldn't help but wonder whether he had just made a grave mistake.


	2. Chapter 2

At precisely nine am the next morning, a black Honda Civic pulled up outside the LAPD headquarters. Max watched as the vehicle pulled to a stop just outside the front door through a gap in the blinds.

"Rachel?" he said, moving away from the window and towards the young woman. "It's time to go."

Rachel didn't seem to hear him. Her eyes had a far-off quality to them, as though she was looking at something that no one else could see.

"Rachel?" he said, a little louder. Rachel jumped.

"Yeah?"

Max held out a hand toward her.

"Time to go."

Rachel glanced at the clock on the wall, and her stomach lurched.

"Okay."

The actress stood up and followed Max out of the room and down the short hallway to the front door, squinting slightly in the harsh morning sun. Rachel looked at the Honda sitting by the kerb, and her stomach lurched again. It looked cold, black, intimidating.

Max checked his watch. _9.03_. He put his hand at Rachel's back, steering her toward the car.

"Go on."

Rachel pulled him into a tight hug.

"I'll miss you." she whispered, gripping him fervently.

"I'll miss you too." Max said. "I'll be in touch as soon as everything's blown over." _9.04_. "Now go on. Quick, before she leaves."

Rachel nodded as she released Max, walking cautiously toward the car. Stopping at the passenger door, she pulled the door open and slid in.

The woman sitting in the driver's seat was not what Rachel had expected at all. Blonde hair, with hazel eyes that were fixed straight ahead. A light layer of makeup adorned her face, accentuating her features. Her hands were calm and still on the steering wheel, and her suit was obviously tailored. Looking at her, Rachel couldn't deny that the woman was extremely attractive.

"Hi, I'm - " Rachel began, but Quinn held up a hand, cutting her off mid-sentence.

"Rule number two: no names, and I know who you are." the Transporter said. She didn't look at Rachel, nor did she look surprised at who had just entered her car. "You have something for me?"

Rachel nodded mutely, a little taken aback at the woman's brusque manner. Reaching into her bag, she pulled out a heavy, thick envelope. Without a word, she passed it to Quinn, who took it and promptly tossed it onto the back seat.

"Aren't you going to count it?" Rachel asked. Quinn shook her head.

"I don't need to." Without another word, she turned the key in the ignition, and Rachel felt the car judder beneath her as the engine started. Rachel looked out of the window at Max, who was watching the proceedings with a mixture of sorrow and despair in his face. Then Quinn pressed down on the accelerator, and Max slowly drifted out of view. Rachel craned her neck to keep the man in sight as long as possible, but Quinn guided the Honda around a corner, and he was gone.

-x-x-x-x-x-

"Hello? Yeah, they just left... A Honda Civic... Black... 5GID537... Just the girl and the driver, I think... Heading east... Okay..."

-x-x-x-x-x-

Rachel sighed as she leaned back into the leather of the seat, glancing every so often at her driver. Quinn's eyes were glued to the road, never looking at her passenger. Rachel may as well have been a backpack for all the attention Quinn gave to her.

Quinn, meanwhile, was trying her best not to look at her passenger. If she had known who she was Transporting, she would have asked for a lot more money. America's Sweetheart was obviously loaded. But she couldn't demand more money now. Rule number one: the deal is the deal.

"So," Rachel said, trying to break the silence. "how long have you been a Transporter?"

"Rule number three: do not converse with the package." Quinn said, not taking her eyes from the road. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a car pull in behind them in the rear view mirror.

Rachel's eyes widened.

"'The package'?" she repeated. "What does that mean?" Quinn didn't reply. "Are you gonna talk or what?"

"Rule number three: do not converse with the package." Quinn repeated. She turned left. The car behind turned left.

Rachel let out a sigh, leaning back into the leather seat and propping her feet up on the dashboard.

"What do you think you're doing?" Quinn asked, turning right. The car behind turned right.

"What?" Rachel asked.

"Feet off the dashboard, please." Quinn said.

"Why?" Quinn shifted lane. The car behind shifted lane.

"That car behind us has been following us almost since we left the station." Quinn said, turning left. As if to accentuate her point, the car behind turned left.

"So?" Rachel asked. Quinn took a deep breath. _This is why you don't converse with the package._

"So, he could be following us for a reason. Which means, to lose him, I will have to use evasive maneuvers. With your legs in that position means I will have to use safer maneuvers so that you aren't injured. Which means, we lose our advantage. I don't want to get caught. You don't want to get caught." Her voice remained completely unchanged throughout this short monologue. She was reeling off facts, nothing more. Facts that Rachel couldn't really argue with.

Rachel huffed as she pulled her feet down off of the dashboard. Quinn allowed herself a small smile. Clearly, the girl was used to doing what she wanted, when she wanted. Well, that would change on this journey, of that, Quinn was sure.

"Are you at least going to tell me your name?" Rachel asked.

"Rule number two: no names." Quinn said. She glanced in her mirrors, then pulled onto the freeway, followed, as she expected, by the car behind. She shifted up a gear and pressed the accelerator to the floor, picking up speed with every moment.

"So, what? We aren't going to speak the entire journey?" Rachel asked, hardly able to believe that the woman next to her was happy to spend at least three days in absolute silence.

"Correct."

Rachel let out an exasperated sigh, staring out of her window and absent-mindedly drumming a rhythm on her thighs with her hands.

"Can we have some music on, at least?" she asked. Quinn said nothing, but reached across the centre console, pressing a small button. An LED screen flashed into life, followed quickly by the soft sound of a piano. "Thank you."

They drove in silence for another fifteen minutes along the freeway, with only the piano tinkling away in the background to fill the void. It wasn't what Rachel particularly wanted to listen to, but it was better than nothing, and she didn't dare ask the blonde woman to put on something else.

It was only when Quinn happened to glance in her mirror that she noticed the car that had been following them was no longer behind them. At first, she thought that maybe she had been too paranoid. She glanced sideways at Rachel, and saw it, drawing level with her car.

The driver appeared to be in his mid-thirties, unshaven, with long, matted hair. He grinned at her as they locked eyes, and she could see that he was missing several teeth. As he wound his window down, he raised something in his right hand, shaking it. The item was unmistakeable.

It was a gun.

"Oh, shit!" Quinn muttered. Her eyes snapped back forwards immediately as she slammed up a gear, flooring the accelerator. The engine roared as the car leapt forward, a bullet pinging off the back window. Not for the first time was Quinn thankful for the bulletproof glass she had installed in her car.

Rachel had been completely oblivious to the proceedings, instead applying another layer of lipstick in the mirror concealed in the passenger visor. When Quinn buried the accelerator, however, she shrieked as she was thrust back into her seat, the lipstick tumbling from her hands and onto the floor.

"What the hell?!" she shouted, but Quinn cut across her.

"Just shut up! And keep your head down!"

Rachel ducked down, her hands over her head as Quinn swerved in and out of other cars on the freeway. Rubber screeched against the tarmac as horns blared, accompanied by shouts from other motorists. Bullets pinged off the rear window as the Honda raced along the road.

"Come on!" Quinn growled. "Come on!"

In her rear mirror, she could see the driver raise his hand to the side of his face. _A phone!_ She swerved around another car, ignoring the expletives coming from the other car. Her eyes scanned the road ahead, looking for an exit.

"He's shooting at us!" Rachel screamed, as more bullets bounced off the car.

"I'm well aware of that, thank you!"

Quinn shifted into sixth gear, pushing the accelerator down as hard as she could. The engine was screaming against the abuse, but she didn't relent. She glanced in her mirror again. _Oh, you've got to be shitting me._

Two more cars had seemingly materialized from nowhere, joining the high speed chase. The drivers were leaning out of their windows, firing their guns with one hand while steering with the other.

"Do something!" Rachel shouted.

"Fine!" Quinn yelled. In one fluid motion, she yanked the handbrake up, twisting the steering wheel and pushing the car into reverse, releasing the handbrake and flooring the accelerator, reversing up the freeway, facing their pursuers.

"What are you doing?!" Rachel shrieked.

"Something!" Quinn shouted back, rolling her window down and glancing over her shoulder as she weaved between the cars. She reached into her jacket, withdrawing one of her guns, a 9mm Beretta. Rachel's eyes widened as she looked at the weapon, her jaw dropping.

Quinn paid the woman no mind, reaching her arm out of the window. The wind buffeted her arm, trying to dislodge her grip on her gun, but Quinn held tight. She risked another glance over her shoulder, then opened fire, squeezing the trigger, aiming in the general direction of the silver Ford racing toward them.

Two of her bullets found their mark, punching cleanly through the Ford's windscreen. White cracks spidered away from the holes, completely obscuring the driver's vision. The car swerved violently before careering head on into a wall, the front end crumpling. The two cars following hadn't expected the sudden turn of events, swerving to avoid their comrade. One managed to slip through a gap, but the other wasn't so lucky. The crashing noise of two cars colliding followed Quinn and Rachel up the freeway.

Quinn twisted the steering wheel savagely, turning the car the right way around again, continuing up the freeway, trying to lose the final pursuer. The driver was skilled, though, and try as Quinn might, she couldn't lose him in the traffic.

"We need to get off the freeway." Quinn muttered, glancing overhead at the signs as they flashed overhead, looking for the nearest exit. She pulled over into the far right lane, ready to get out of dodge.

The car behind was slowly catching up to them. Rachel's knuckles were white on the door handle as she held on for dear life, her eyes screwed tightly shut. Quinn was oblivious to her passenger's discomfort, still trying to shake their tail.

The pursuer drew level, coming tight to the left of their car, trying to force them into a wall. Quinn pulled the steering wheel round as hard as she could, trying to counter steer. The only thing she was thankful for was, at this close range, the driver wouldn't be able to use his gun. Unfortunately, neither could she.

The exit was approaching fast. Cars were drifting into the other lanes, trying to get out of their way. Quinn steered toward the single lane exit, wanting to be away sooner rather than later. The other car continued to force her to the right, though Quinn could see there was nowhere near enough room for both cars to fit.

Both cars continued forward, each trying to force the other off the road. Quinn shifted gear, gunning the engine, pushing the other car away. She was lined up perfectly with the exit. To get through, their pursuer would have to drop back. There was no way they would both fit.

At the last second, Quinn twisted the steering wheel, pulling away from the other car, heading down the exit ramp. The other car tried to follow, but he was going too fast to steer in time. His car collided with the concrete barrier separating the off-ramp from the highway with a sickening crunch. Quinn glanced in her rear mirror at the wreckage of the car. There was no sign of movement.

Satisfied, Quinn eased on the brakes, bringing the car back down to the speed limit. For a few minutes she drove seemingly mindlessly through the small backstreets, finally coming to a stop in a small alley.

Rachel's eyes had remained shut tight, though when the car pulled to a complete stop, she slowly, tentatively, opened her eyes, looking around.

"Where are we?" she asked. Quinn ignored her, moving her hand across the center console and pressing a button marked 4. She pressed it, and there was a dull thunk. Bringing her hand back, Quinn shook her sleeve, looking at her watch. She made a slight noise of annoyance as she looked at the time.

"Great. We're late."

Rachel stared at her driver incredulously as they pulled away again. In the distance, she could just make out the sound of sirens.

"'We're late'?" she asked disbelievingly. "That's all you have to say? You just killed those people!"

"Their airbags should have saved them." Quinn said, returning her gun to its holster within her jacket.

Rachel was, for once, rendered almost speechless at the driver's complete lack of empathy. The woman was clearly used to high speed chases like that, and Rachel didn't know whether to be worried or relieved by that.

"You're not just a chauffeur, are you?" Rachel asked. Quinn ignored her. Rachel huffed as she sat back again, trying to even her breathing and get her heartbeat back under control.

She tensed up almost immediately as three police cruisers sped past them, lights flashing and sirens blaring. Instead of pulling them over, like Rachel had expected, the cruisers continued straight past them, not even acknowledging the Honda.

"What the – How did they not notice us?" she asked, staring open-mouthed at the cruisers speeding into the distance.

"Would you rather I pull over and flag them down?" Quinn asked dryly, not taking her eyes off the road.

"No, of course not!" Rachel said, shaking her head furiously, hoping the woman wouldn't do that. "I was just wondering, is all."

Quinn said nothing, and it quickly became clear to Rachel that the woman wasn't about to explain either. She sighed, flopping back into her seat, drumming an impatient rhythm with her hands against her thighs.

This was going to be a long trip.

-x-x-x-x-x-

"_Our main story tonight; a high speed chase on a busy freeway in Los Angeles has put six people in hospital, and claimed the lives of two others._"

Rachel stared at the radio as the newscast continued, her stomach twisting horribly, feeling as though she were about to throw up. She looked across at Quinn, but the Transporter either wasn't listening, or didn't care.

"We did that." Rachel whispered, glancing back at the radio. Quinn said nothing. "Where are we going anyway?"

"There's a motel a few miles from here." Quinn said flatly.

"A motel?" Rachel asked, a note of surprise in her voice.

"Oh, I'm sorry, princess, were you expecting to be staying in five-star hotels on this trip?" Quinn snarled, rapidly losing patience with the diva. They had been driving less than a day, and all the young actress had done was complain. "It's a motel, or the car. Your choice."

Rachel was stunned into silence. Never had anyone ever dared to speak to her in such a way. She had gotten so used to everyone bending over backwards to meet her every demand that it was incredibly jarring to be paired with the woman who had, for the most part, completely ignored her the entire day.

The rest of the miles passed quickly and in complete silence, except for the music softly emanating from the radio. Quinn pulled the Honda into an empty parking space and killed the engine.

"Out."

Rachel glared at her, but when it became clear that Quinn wasn't going to open her door for her, she huffed and opened the door herself, stepping out into the cold night. She slammed the door with more force than was wholly necessary, shooting a death glare at Quinn as she did so. Quinn said nothing, locking the car and motioning for Rachel to lead the way, though she stopped her at the door.

"Keep your head down, and don't talk to anyone." Quinn said, in a tone that brooked no argument. Without waiting for a reply, she gave Rachel a push, forcing her through the door.

The foyer was completely deserted, much like the parking lot outside. A few pictures hung on the grey walls, the colors faded. Several out-of-date magazines were strewn haphazardly across a small table in the corner, a motley collection of moth-eaten chairs around it. An old CRT monitor clung to a bracket in the corner, the screen blank and covered in dust.

Quinn strode to the reception counter, taking care not to place her arm on the grimy countertop, striking a small bell sharply, the sound loud in the quiet of the room.

A few moments later, a man clad in an old dressing robe shuffled out of a small room, a cigarette dangling between his lips. His cheeks and chin were covered in matted grey hair, and his hair hung lank around his shoulders. He looked at Quinn with a look of surprise, as though he couldn't believe someone had decided to stay here.

"Yeah?" he asked gruffly.

"I need a room for tonight." Quinn said. "Two people."

The man turned, grabbing a key off a hook behind him and tossed it onto the counter.

"Upstairs, on the left." he grunted, turning and retreating back into his office, slamming the door behind him.

"Lovely man." Quinn commented, picking up the key and turning to Rachel. "Come on."

Rachel followed Quinn upstairs, stopping again outside the room, a faded sign on the door indicating it as room 103. Quinn forced the key into the lock, twisting it and pushing the door open.

The room, like the rest of the motel, was nothing spectacular. Two single beds stood in the centre of one of the walls, while a window occupied the other, the glass stained and dirty. Two thin curtains hung limply on either side, dangling from a wonky curtain rail. In the corner stood a small silver bowl, also stained. A stack of newspapers lay on the floor next to it. In the other corner was an old wooden chair.

Quinn crossed the room to the window as Rachel looked around in disgust. She peered out of the window, trying to get a good view of the surroundings. The window was situated just over the parking lot, the main road clearly visible from her vantage point. No one could approach from the road without them knowing about it. Perfect.

"Get some sleep, we'll be leaving early." Quinn said, turning back from the window and removing her jacket.

"I need to use the bathroom." Rachel said, looking incredibly uncomfortable in the room.

"Knock yourself out." Quinn said, gesturing to the silver bowl in the corner.

Rachel's eyes bugged.

"_That's_ the toilet?"

"Well, it isn't a wishing well." Quinn said, removing her shirt and kneeling to remove her shoes. Rachel's face burned bright red at the woman stripping off with impunity in front of her, clad only in her pants and a bra. She walked over to the toilet apprehensively, peering down at the bowl. She knelt down, grabbing some newspaper and using it to line the seat. She turned back to Quinn, who was now wearing only her underwear.

"Could I have some privacy?" she asked. Quinn arched an eyebrow.

"Something to hide?"

"No!" Rachel said, looking anywhere but at the blonde. "I just want some privacy."

Quinn sighed.

"Fine."

Quinn walked over to the chair in the corner as Rachel seated herself. Grabbing the furniture, she carried it to the door, wedging it securely under the handle, pushing down on the handle experimentally, checking the door couldn't be opened. Satisfied, she walked back over to the bed, withdrawing her gun and checking the magazine. It was almost empty. Quinn grunted and ejected the magazine, rummaging in her jacket for a new clip and fitting it.

"OK." Rachel said. Quinn looked around to see Rachel walking over to the bed, looking at the mattress dubiously. Like everything else in the motel, it was old and stained.

"If it's not to your liking, you're welcome to sleep on the floor." Quinn said, lying down on her bed, trying to ignore the broken springs digging into her back.

Rachel looked as though she was seriously considering that course of action. Finally, however, she laid herself down on the mattress, her face contorted in disgust.

Quinn glanced at her before she rolled over. The girl would be in for a shock if she thought this journey would be a bed of roses. Comfort was not high on her list of priorities on this trip. Getting the girl to New York was. That was all that mattered. Get the girl to New York, get paid, disappear.

She gripped her gun, taking comfort in the familiar feel of the grip, and closed her eyes.


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning, Rachel awoke to see Quinn sitting on the floor, lowering her back to the floor and raising herself again, still clad only in her underwear. As she watched the driver, the early morning sunlight streaming through the window, Rachel noticed that the blonde woman was incredibly well toned. Not in the same way a body builder would be, but rather someone who was incredibly physically fit, and stuck to a strict regimen to keep it that way. Much like herself.

"Good morning." Quinn said, and Rachel jumped, unaware the Transporter had known that she'd been watching her.

"Morning." Rachel said, stretching her arms and swinging her legs off the bed, now realising how uncomfortable it actually was.

Quinn got to her feet, reaching behind her to brush off her back and legs. Once she was satisfied, she crossed to her pile of clothes, pulling on her pants and buttoning her shirt.

"There should be a shower down the hall." she said, looping her tie around her neck.

"A communal bathroom?" Rachel asked, an obvious note of disgust in her voice. Quinn simply stared at her. "Thank you." She turned to leave, but Quinn stopped her.

"I'm coming with you."

"You are not!" Rachel said, her voice rising a few decibels in indignation.

"Fine." Quinn said, reaching down and picking up her guns, holstering one and holding the other out to Rachel. "Do you know how to use one of these?"

"Of course not." Rachel replied, eyeing the gun warily. She had seen prop guns on sets, but never had she been so close to an actual gun.

"Can you fight?"

"...No."

"Then how do you propose you defend yourself?" Quinn asked. Rachel's eyebrows rose.

"Why should I need to be able to defend myself?"

"Don't play dumb, princess!" Quinn snapped. "Have you forgotten what happened yesterday already? How often do people decide to shoot up a random car? People don't hire me to drive their friends away for a vacation. So, if you're showering, I'm coming."

"...Fine." Rachel said quietly. Quinn strode past her, wrenching the chair from under the door handle and tossing it aside, the wood clattering loudly along the floor. The Transporter opened the door carefully, gun held ready, peering through the crack in the frame. The hallway was deserted. Nodding, she opened the door fully, letting Rachel out, closing the door behind her and following the diva down the hallway.

When they reached the bathroom, Quinn pushed the door open, scanning the inside of the room before letting Rachel in.

"I'll be out here." Quinn said, as Rachel entered the room. "Don't be too long."

Rachel narrowed her eyes at the driver, closing the door behind her.

The bathroom was as disgusting as the rest of the motel. While not unclean, the room was very spartan. A row of showers covered one wall, while towels had been screwed up and shoved roughly into the towel racks opposite the showers. A couple of toilet cubicles stood like sentries either end of the rank of showers.

Rachel approached the nearest shower, reaching in and turning on the water, her hand darting out as the water began to pour. She stripped off quickly, then stood with her arms wrapped around her, goosebumps breaking out on her skin as she waited for the water to heat up. Looking around, the source of the cill wasn't hard to find; the small window in the corner was smashed, the early morning chill creeping in.

Rachel reached out tentatively, putting her hand under the stream of water, checking the temperature. Deciding it would have to do, she stepped under the water, tilting her head back, letting the liquid pound into her face.

Outside, Quinn's head swivelled from side to side, watching both ends of the hallway for any sign of trouble. She couldn't work out what was so special about the girl she was Transporting. Celebrities often had stalkers, that was common knowledge. But stalkers didn't try to kill the people they were stalking. What on earth had the girl done to warrant people trying to kill her?

Quinn shook her head slightly. She couldn't afford to distract herself. She had built her career on caring about nothing but what she was paid to do. There was no way she was about to change that now, and certainly not for a little girl with a big attitude. No way.

The sound of a door opening nearby made Quinn's head snap round, all her senses on high alert. As she watched, a woman with smudged makeup and very few clothes slipped out of the door, slinking down the hallway, long-heeled shoes swinging lazily from her hand. No prizes for guessing what she did for a living.

As the woman sauntered past, she gave Quinn an appraising, appreciative look. Quinn stared straight back at her, eyes boring into the hooker's back until she was out of sight. Quinn looked back around as the door the woman had left was opened again, and a man dressed in boxer shorts and a vest stepped out, walking towards the bathroom. As he approached, Quinn could see a fine layer of sweat clinging to his brow, and a slight tent in his boxers. _Lovely._

Quinn fixed him with a hard stare as he stopped in front of her, glancing at the door and back to Quinn.

"Are you gonna move?" he asked, his voice raspy.

"No." Quinn said simply.

"It's a communal bathroom." the man said, trying to push past Quinn, who stood her ground. "You can't stop me going in."

"Come back later."

"No. I'm going in, right now." He tried to push past Quinn, and again, Quinn blocked his path. "Come on, love. Get outta the way."

"No." Quinn said again. She was pretty sure that the man had no intention of hurting Rachel, but she still wasn't about to let a man who had just climbed off of a prostitute and still stank of sex in where her charge was showering.

"If you won't move, I'll make you move." the man growled, stepping back, his hands balling into fists.

Quinn sighed, uncrossing her arms, holding her hands loose but ready at her sides.

"You don't want to do this."

The man paused for a moment, then lunged, his right fist swinging wildly. Quinn ducked under the clumsy blow, grabbing the man's wrist and bringing it with her, straightening up, pulling the man's elbow down over her shoulder, holding it on the verge of hyperextension.

The man gasped, grabbing at his shoulder, his eyes screwed shut tight, teeth gritted against the pain coursing down his arm. Quinn held him there a moment longer, then pulled him, tossing him back towards his room. He climbed to his knees, looking at Quinn, unwilling to try and gain entry to the bathroom again.

"Come back later." Quinn repeated. The man nodded, scurrying back to his room, cradling his almost-broken arm.

A few minutes later, the bathroom door opened and Rachel walked out, her hair still slightly wet, running her fingers through it, trying to tame the locks into some semblance of style.

"Can we stay somewhere with an en suite next time?" she asked, closing the door behind her. Quinn ignored her, grabbing her arm and frogmarching her down the stairs.

The foyer was, as it was the night before, deserted. Quinn crossed to the reception desk, dropping the key and a twenty dollar note on the counter. Twenty dollars was, in her eyes, being incredibly generous, but she didn't have time to argue with herself or the owner over the price. She wanted to be gone. She struck her palm against the bell, then turned, leading Rachel out of the building.

They couldn't see the back of the place quick enough.

-x-x-x-x-x-

"I'm hungry."

Quinn closed her eyes briefly, breathing heavily through her nose, doing her best to stop herself from reaching across and throttling the girl in the passenger seat. They had been driving for a little over three hours, and all the actress had done was complain. Quinn wasn't quite sure what the girl was expecting; her to pull over and rustle up a Full English?

She glanced at her Sat Nav. There was a gas station coming up in a few miles. She had to get gas anyway, so they could get something to eat there.

"Are you ever going to tell me your name?" Rachel asked.

"Rule number two: no names." Quinn sighed, having already lost track of the amount of times she had repeated her rules. She was beginning to wonder how different this trip would be if she had enforced rule number three from the beginning, do not converse with the package.

"God, what is it with you and these rules?" Rachel asked, digging through her purse for makeup.

"They make my job easier."

"Can't you make an exception?"

"No."

There was a few moments of blessed silence as Rachel applied a generous layer of makeup to her cheeks, but as soon as the makeup was back in her purse, Rachel spoke again.

"Rules are made to be broken, you know."

"Not my rules."

-x-x-x-x-x-

They pulled into the gas station fifteen minutes later, Quinn guiding the Honda neatly beside a gas pump.

"Stay here." she said to Rachel, unbuckling her seatbelt and getting out of the car. "And don't touch anything." Rachel harrumphed, fidgeting in her seat as Quinn inserted the nozzle and began refilling the petrol tank.

She was getting increasingly agitated by Quinn's complete lack of respect. Everyone she met bent over backwards to accommodate her every desire, yet this woman couldn't care less about what she wanted. Making her stay in a flea-ridden motel? Completely ignoring her when she spoke to her? Not even telling her her name? Rachel shook her head. The Transporter was unbelievable.

She watched as the driver replaced the petrol pump, closed the cap on the car and walked round to the small shop to pay. An idea struck her.

She glanced up again, to check the driver wasn't watching her, then reached out in front of her to open the glove compartment, hoping it wasn't locked or alarmed. It wasn't. The compartment flap fell open into her lap, the small light clicking on, illuminating the contents.

Rachel risked another peek, then began rummaging, looking for the car's insurance documents. She sifted through several brown envelopes, all rather bulky, finally finding what she was looking for; a small leather folder. _Bingo._

Finding the end of the zip, Rachel drew the zip around the folder, opening the folder and flicking through the contents.

"Come on, come on." she muttered, glancing up again to check the driver wasn't returning. "Got it!"

She ran her finger down the page, looking for a name.

_**Registered driver: Quinn L. Fabray**_

"Quinn Fabray." Rachel muttered. She would never have guessed the driver's name as Quinn. If she had to guess, she would have said Louise or Lucy, not Quinn. She glanced up again.

"Shit!"

Quinn was returning, a plastic carrier bag in one hand, a receipt being safely stowed inside her jacket with the other. Rachel zipped up the folder, tossing it into the glove compartment and closing the door again with her knee. She quickly adjusted herself, trying not to look too flustered.

Quinn opened the door, sliding in and closing the door behind her, bag balanced on her lap. She put her hand in the bag, withdrawing a sandwich in a cardboard box and a bottle of Diet Coke, passing them both to Rachel.

"Thank you," Rachel said, as Quinn started the engine and pulled out onto the road. "_Quinn_."

Quinn's head snapped round, but she didn't stop, or even slow down. She stared at Rachel.

"R-road." Rachel said, pointing out the front windscreen. Quinn didn't look round. "Quinn, road."

"What did you say?" Quinn asked, glancing at the road, but keeping her attention very much focussed on Rachel.

"Quinn." Rachel said. "That's your name, isn't it? Quinn Fabray."

"How did you learn my name?" Quinn asked, flooring the accelerator, the car flying down the empty highway. Fury was blazing in her eyes.

"I-I looked through your d-documents." Rachel stammered, regretting her inquisitiveness. She truly hoped the woman wouldn't kick her out of the car.

Quinn slammed on the brakes, the car screeching to a halt on the side of the road.

"Why?"

"I just wanted to know what your name is."

"Why?"

Rachel paused. Why did she want to know Quinn's name? A small act of rebellion? She couldn't really explain it to herself, and she had no idea how to explain it to Quinn.

"What is rule number two?" Quinn asked.

"No names." Rachel muttered.

"Exactly." Quinn said. "I'm not interested in any extra information about you, and you don't need to know anything about me. I'm to drive you to New York, and that's it. You'll never see me again, and I'll never see you again. Why could you possibly need to know my name?"

"You know my name." Rachel tried to argue.

"_Everyone_ knows your name, princess." Quinn replied. "That's unavoidable. You don't need to know my name."

"You were perfectly happy to drive to New York in total silence?" Rachel asked. The concept was completely foreign to her.

"Rule number three: do not open the package. Or converse with the package."

Rachel flopped back in her seat. This plan had completely backfired on her. Quinn sighed deeply, then pulled back onto the highway, driving off again, passing a car on the hard shoulder with its hazard lights flashing.

"I'm sorry, Quinn." Rachel said quietly. Quinn made no indication that she had heard her, concentrating on driving.

Rachel sighed. She couldn't believe she was thinking it, but she actually preferred when she didn't know Quinn's name. 'Quinn is angry with me' was a lot more personal than 'the driver is angry with me'.

She looked down at the sandwich in her lap, suddenly not very hungry. She broke the seal anyway, pulling out a slightly soggy sandwich. She opened her mouth to comment, but one sideways look at Quinn made her immediately reconsider.

She bit into the sandwich, grimacing slightly at the texture.

She supposed it was all she deserved.

-x-x-x-x-x-

The man turned off his hazard lights, turning on the engine and pulling onto the freeway.

"What are we gonna do?" one of his companions asked. He was tall, built like the proverbial brick shithouse, with a shaved head and tattoos around his temples. Cradled in his arms was a large machine gun. "Run 'em off the road?"

"No." the driver replied. "We'll wait until they stop. They'll be exposed, vulnerable. That's when we strike."

He continued to drive, following the Honda down the otherwise deserted road. His companion lifted a phone to his ear.

"Hello? Yeah, they just passed us... heading east... meet you in ten... Okay..."


End file.
